


Always

by SatanInACroptop



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, First Time, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatanInACroptop/pseuds/SatanInACroptop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles and Erik have been dating for some time now, but have yet to take it to the next level. Charles has been dodging the issue with every excuse he can find. But now he's out of excuses, and Erik's out of patience. But all of the excuses in the world can't prepare Erik for the real reason Charles has been playing hard to get, because really, Charles isn't playing at all. He's running scared from a past that he can't stand to face, a violation that makes his blood run cold and heart cry out in fear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

“Would you like to come in?” he asked, the question hanging between them. They’d been on, how many dates was it now, four, five? And every time Charles had been able to come up with some wonderful excuse to turn him down. But tonight Erik knew better, and the darkening of his eyes pinned him in place, as if daring him to escape this time.

Charles didn’t want to escape, he didn’t the first four or five times, and he certainly didn’t now. They needed this. Erik needed this. And though they hadn’t know each other very long, (just a little over a month) Charles wanted nothing more than to please Erik, than to make smile that oh so rare, ear-to-ear grin that was reserved only for him. Charles was through letting the past hold him back. And just as Erik’s expression started to turn from smolder to concern, Charles grabbed him by his black wool coat and crushed the man’s pale lips to his own.

Erik groaned into his mouth, grabbing the smaller man across the shoulders, pulling him closer. Charles sighed in relief and the welcoming heat, the passion that this man, only this man, could pull through him. The elder man’s touch turn him pliant, turned fear to desire, pure and new, the kind that made skin shiver, heart race, and breathing difficult. It was searing, Erik’s tongue at his lips, demanding entrance, begging for the younger man to allow him inside. Charles was drowning in it, and he wondered how on earth he managed to deny him for this long, and what a fool he was for keeping it up for so long.

How Erik managed to get him to this point and still unlock the door to his place was a mystery that Charles would always ponder with a half-smile and an I’m-not-at-all-embarrassed shake of the head. For now there is no thought, not yet, nothing other than that he needs more of Erik, he needs to feel him everywhere, he needs to get out these clothes and to this perfect, burning, place where there isn’t anything anymore, no past, no present, just these two and this moment.

It’s not until Erik begins to disrobe that Charles realizes just what he’s been missing out on. Even his perfectly tailored suits and his casual turtlenecks, skin-tight as they are, do not do his body justice. He’s an Adonis, and what he’s doing with Charles he suddenly doesn’t know. But when Charles follows suit, his eyes never leaving that heated gaze, he sees in those steely blues what Erik must see in him, and he knows it in certainty when Erik all-but-pounces on him, kissing and nipping the hollow of his neck, and whispers in his ear, “You are perfect, Charles. You are beautiful. You don’t need to hide from me,” and God, how Charles doesn’t melt into a puddle of goo right there he doesn’t know either.

Finally, they are naked, together, still standing by the bed, as if Erik is waiting for Charles to take the first step. And Charles is frozen. He needs Erik to push him, to lead him, to guide, but how much is a push too much? And God he can’t look down, if he sees _that_ it will be too much, and he will lose it. Everything he’s worked so hard for. He stares straight ahead, afraid to move forward, and determined to stay. He studies the outlines of Erik’s torso, all broad shoulders and fine muscles tapering off to a waist so small Charles swore such proportions only existed in Roman sculpture, but no, they were very, very real. And Charles tastes them with his lips and tongue, delighting in the sounds he is eliciting from his love. His own voice amazes him when it whispers, “God Erik, how could I have possible denied you for so long,” and, feeling emblazoned and bold, allows his hands to wander further south and grab his sculpted posterior, just rough enough to make Erik growl. His eyes are impossibly dark when Charles looks up into them with those damned puppy-dog eyes that fold the other into submission every time, “Forgive me?”

“Always,” he moans, and Charles squeezes again, and it is that touch that breaks the dam that Erik has built, his careful control to be gentle with the so-obviously skittish man. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t want to know, but someone hurt this man once before, and Erik was going to be damned if he let it happen again. He had worked so hard to get them to this moment, and he was not about to scare him off now.

If only he knew that Charles thoughts were exactly the same.

But Erik isn’t holding back now. He’s pinning Charles to the bed, and at first the brunette can ride the desire with him. Erik peppering his chest with nips and hot, opened mouth kisses that leave Charles panting for breath, teasing his way down to the vee of dark curls, eyes never leaving his, as if constantly asking, _Is this okay? Is this too much?_

And it isn’t the sight of the anaconda lurking between Erik’s thighs that does it. It’s not the teeth digging into his hip just hard enough to make him cry out. It is the grip of Erik’s hands on his thighs, pinning him down, nails digging in just enough for Charles sanity to snap, and the need to escape overrides anything and everything else. There isn’t Erik anymore, or his perfect body or his perfect words. Just the memory of that night and how he would have done anything to escape. And for once, just this once, Charles is grateful for the black out in his memory that simply puts him from being adored by Erik to curled up by the headboard, knees drawn, impossibly small, petrified, if only so he doesn’t have to bear witness to the look of horror and disgust on Erik’s face, which, by the time he’s come to, has had time to adjust. There’s only anger, and concern, which is such a strange combination to witness, and yet there it was.

“Charles, it’s alright, we don’t have to, if you’re not ready.”

And God, he hated it. He hated that this stupid, ancient secret was still interrupting his life. Still keeping him from being loved. And he hated himself for allowing it to happen. Though of course he had no control of it, but this was _Charles_ , who believed nothing was beyond his will. He didn’t blame himself for what happened, but he certainly blamed himself for this moment, right now.

“Fuck, no, Erik, I’m sorry,” and its only as he begins to speak that he realizes he’s gasping from breath, coming down from a panic attack that’s left Erik bleeding. “It’s nothing you’ve done love, nothing at all. It’s me, I’m…” Damaged, he thought, damaged fucking goods. And Erik, beautiful, polite Erik, is just sitting there, shirt and boxers having reappeared from somewhere. He’s done so in hopes of calming his lover down, it only pisses him off more. Erik shouldn’t have to cover up for him, hide his beauty just so Charles can breathe. “I was...”

And Charles can’t bare to say it. If he says it now than Erik knows and Erik will run because why would anyone ever tolerate it? How could they? Erik who is beautiful and intelligent and funny and charming, who already bests Charles in every way he can think of. He’s too good for him already.

But Erik already knows, he can tell, and Charles can tell he can tell when his lips part in a silent “o” that is equal parts horror and rage. And when Charles eyes widen he snaps his mouth shut, once again the cold metal of resolve, no emotion, a glass-like sea of calm. He doesn’t want to know, but damnit, he has to. Erik has to know. So he can find the bastard and kill him.

“What happened, Charles?” and though Erik is afraid to touch him, the man hiding before him like an abused animal, he offers his hand, and slowly, ever so slowly, Charles uncurls from himself and takes it. And God help him, he tells him the story, as he’s come to call it. The incident. Just another night at the bar. Raven was sick, it was his 21st birthday. He wanted to stay home with her, but she begged him to go. Raven regrets it with every inch of her life. Charles is too small, too drunk, too powerless to resist. He never gets a clear look at him, never presses charges, and what could he say? It was illegal to do such acts consensually. Police didn’t care if you were hurt, only if you were gay. There were no victims, only sluts who should have known better.

And when Charles can’t say anything more, he stops studying the high-thread count of Erik’s bedding to find a look of horror and disgust that makes the younger man weep. Charles can’t stand to look at him any longer, and as if sensing this, Erik calmly walks out of the room. Charles doesn’t think Erik can hear him sobbing until he hears the resounding slam, like a thunderclap, roaring through the house. And he doesn’t care that Erik is disgusted with him, it doesn’t matter if Erik doesn’t want him anymore. Charles loves him and it’s that love that has him rushing towards the source of the sound, the living room. Where Erik has managed to not only punch a hole in the wall, but has managed to hit one of the few studs in the apartment, knuckles bleeding profusely, covered in the white dust and bits of drywall.

“Erik? Are you alright?” he asks, voice timid, shaky, and barely above a whisper. And the fact that _Charles_ is asking _him_ this rips from him a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. And Erik stops worrying about scaring the man any further. He just goes to him and holds him close, but not too tight, so afraid of him causing any more damage than he has already.

“I’m on the edge of a murderous rampage,” he whispers. He pulls him closer, cradling the younger man’s head to his chest, the right height for Erik to rest his chin on his ravished locks. “I swear I will keep you safe Charles. I swear it. I will _never_ harm you,” desperate hands tangling in the knotted curls, wrapping his larger frame around the smaller man is if he could somehow shield him from all the violence the world had inflicted upon him, “Please don’t be afraid of me Charles,” and then he knew why he left the room, and Charles couldn’t stop the look of relief, the smile that beamed up at Erik when Charles pulled back, staring at him in wonder before wrapping his arms around Erik’s broad chest in return. Erik wasn’t ashamed, was not disgusted. He was furious, and afraid that his need for violence would frighten the man even more, and that, Erik simply could not allow.

“Thank you, Erik,” Charles beams at him, and Erik is so taken aback he cannot fathom why.

“For what?”

“For this,” Charles gestures, taking his bloodied hand and kissing it, damn the consequences, “For accepting me.”

Erik was not prone to tears, but Charles, his Charles, pulled them out as easy as breathing.

“Charles, there is nothing wrong with you. Do you think yourself wicked? Disfigured in some way?” Charles silence was all the answer he needed. “Charles, look at me,” he demanded, taking the man gently by his stubbled chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. You are not a bad person. You are brilliant and beautiful. Yes, you have scars. Everyone does, love. And there is nothing wrong with that. You will get through this. _We_ will get through this,” and the look in his eyes, the ache in his heart, he can’t help but trust him.

Erik asks Charles if he wants his space, and when Charles looks at him aghast he immediately takes hold of him again, and swears he’ll always be here as long as he needs him. Charles says, “Always,” and Erik takes it for the promise it is, and humbly accepts. They do not try again. Charles begs to, but they both know how foolish it would be. And so Charles steals one of Erik’s shirts, much too massive for his body, and breathes deep his cologne and musk that is just _Erik_ over tea and chess until the sky is light, and both parties are too tired to go on.

 Charles has nightmares. Erik wakes him with the gentlest of kisses. And though the night ends without the hope it began with, it closes with a promise. That no matter what happens, no matter how bad the demons become, or how black the darkness grows, Erik is in this for the long-haul. For forever. And that promise alone, that simple ‘always’, means more than any amount of passionate lovemaking ever could.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt titled Pre-coitus Jitters by Zimothy on her tumblr, in turn inspired by a wonderful gif created by fassbender-mcavoyobsessed. This fic is dedicated to them both, as well as my amazing wife Pipinpips, for giving me the strength and courage to write this, and hopefully, eventually, come to grips with it myself. I also want to take a moment here and dedicate this to anyone whose suffered at the hands of sexual violence. Take Erik's words to heart. Light and love -Le Creep.


End file.
